


Blessed Be The Worthy, Condemned the Weak - Horcrux Project 5.1

by YumeNoTsuzuki (Yumejin)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Horcruxes are complicated, M/M, Male Slash, Porn With Plot, Smut, Voldemort is a smug bastard, and we all love him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 01:51:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yumejin/pseuds/YumeNoTsuzuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Horcrux Project fill 5.1</p><p>Harry seeks out the Diadem in the Room of Requirement, but he may find more than he was hoping for...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blessed Be The Worthy, Condemned the Weak - Horcrux Project 5.1

_I need the place where everything is hidden._

The huge, oak doors of the Room of Hidden Things opened for him with the slightest touch. He stared in wonder at the vast space revealed to him. Mountains of piled objects expanded everywhere, towering higher than he could see. It was dark in there, light could barely make it through the heaps of rubbish and priceless artefacts all mixed together. _How am I supposed to find the Horcrux in here,_ he thought grimly, stepping into the valley of darkness without hesitation, his wand shining before him. The room seemed to go on forever, he walked and walked in the endless maze of books, furniture, statues and countless objects he could not recognise. He kept on tripping over things which were scattered all over the floor. The Horcrux could have been literally anywhere, buried under a thousand blades or on the top of a mountain of books. If Hermione had been with him, she’d have some clever theory of where Voldemort would or wouldn’t have left it, but he didn’t have the faintest clue where to look. It got dark quickly and he could barely even see where he was going, it felt like he’d been in there for hours already… His legs were getting tired from walking and he had no idea where he was anymore, surrounded by large mirrors, desks and abandoned clothes and even wands.

_And there it was, sitting upon a small, ornate table – noticeable and proud, seemingly innocent and unprotected._

Harry knew he really shouldn’t touch the diadem directly, but the sweet little voices surrounding it were tempting, so gentle and soft… The blue jewel atop the silver frame was shimmering invitingly, capturing his attention at once.

His fingers reached out to it before he could even stop to think on his actions – _this was Voldemort’s Horcrux, full of dark magic_ – and his fingers brushed against the coldness of the Diadem. His body seemed to be moving on its own, automatically slipping the intricately decorated accessory pn the top of his head. It fit perfectly.

A woman, tall and beautiful appeared before him then. Her form shone gently, her pale face looking ethereal. She looked like a ghost, but she didn’t give off the same aura as one. She seemed even more faded, as though she was an echo of a soul long, long gone.

“You are one of Godrics’,” she said after studying him for a long moment. Her voice wavered and faded slightly, as though she was very far away. Harry blinked in confusion, but after a second the knowledge of what she was talking about seemed to slip right into his head.

“Yes,” he answered, inclining his head respectfully. She smiled at him approvingly.

“Never has one as young as you found my diadem,” she said, walking up to him, her eyes searching the depths of his cautiously.

“Is that good or bad?” he asked, not sure whether she was expecting a response. She laughed a little.

“Well, that’s subjective, isn’t? Good and bad?” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips still. Harry was on the verge of protesting, because – of course, something was always either good or bad. Yet suddenly, thousands of vivid, happy, sad, tormenting memories were pushing their way into his mind.   “You’re Rowena…” escaped his lips in wonder suddenly.

She nodded.

“How? Why are you here?” Harry’s eyes narrowed, observing her warily.

“You will face a trial,” the Founder replied, pushing back the waterfall of black curls away from her face. The famous blue of her eyes was faded, haunting somehow.

“You will not take my Diadem so easily. The knowledge shall belong only to those who earn it,” she continued, her voice calm, but firm. Her eyes spoke volumes of things he did not know, an age long passed as well as many lives loved and lost.  She looked young, but her eyes were ancient. Her gaze made him uneasy and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

“What sort of a trial is it?” His voice wavered a little, but after all these years, he knew he could take just about anything fate decided to throw his way. Surely it couldn’t be worse than facing Voldemort on his own in the middle of an old graveyard.

“It will be designed to bend your logic to our will, to lure you with the very things your heart longs for and to tempt your body with what it desires most,” her tone was darker now, and the words echoed as if a thousand smaller voices repeated them after her.

“And that means…” he raised an eyebrow sceptically, his mind running in circles. What was wrong with her? Her aura had suddenly felt heavier, oppressing and dangerous, before the feeling vanished again.

“Good luck,” she whispered and her form vanished just as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving Harry bewildered, confused and alone in the near darkness.

“What was that all about..?” he asked himself, looking around the room, not sure if he should be expecting something to attack him suddenly. The torches lit up. Bright blue light flooded the room from high above, gently illuminating the small clearing Harry had found himself in. 

“Hello Harry,” a voice – _so familiar, longed for, hated_ – spoke right into his ear. The low, seductive tone shot right past his defences, making him shiver. He turned around, but there was no-one to be seen. He was almost disappointed, feeling a painful pang of loneliness in his chest.

“Riddle?” he called out into the distance, his voice unsure and wavering a little. He looked around, an apprehensive expression on his face and an excited, expectant flutter in his heart.

“I would appreciate it if you addressed me by my… proper name,” the same dark, sensual voice replied from behind him again and suddenly something caressed his cheek, making him freeze mid-motion. It felt like… a shadow. Not solid, neither cold nor warm and yet very real, wrapping its greedy tendrils around his neck.

“Voldemort?” he whispered, not daring to look around. The shadows gripped him tighter and then dissolved again, leaving a lingering, ghostly touch on his exposed skin. There was no answer to his question, instead a heavy, anticipating silence oppressing him from all around.

“What do you think?” the voice purred in his ears, but the shadows did not touch him again. Oh, how he wished they would.

“You have to be Voldemort, this is _your_ Horcrux,” he said once the feeling left him again, clearing his mind once more.

A low chuckle rang in his ear at that. It grew in power until it felt as though it was right, right behind him…

“Wish for the Devil thrice and he shall appear,”  Riddle –no, Voldemort – said, raising his elegant eyebrows seductively. He looked different than how Harry had remembered him from the Diary. He looked older – perhaps around his thirties, or at least late twenties. His hair was longer, tied back loosely at the nape of his neck, descending just past his shoulders. He was dressed in expensive, black robes with a high collar which hugged his skin perfectly and a slight green shimmer to them, looking almost like small, smooth snake scales.

It took Harry a moment o realise what the man had said. They were in the Room of Requirement; that meant…

“You wished for me to appear,” the man finished for him as though he could hear what he had been thinking. Harry shook his head in denial. Voldemort only smirked more widely.

“She told you what the test was going to be. A trial made up of your weaknesses, desires and fears…” he drawled, walking up closer to Harry with a delicate click of his heeled, pointed black boots. His eyes were sparkling with apparent delight in the blue light, looking down at Harry from under long lashes. “Ravenclaw’s powers are ever so useful for protecting my soul piece… anyone who attempts to pass her test is either insane or dead by the end of it,” he showed his sparkling, perfect teeth in a nasty, twisted smile which made shiver run down Harry’s spine again.  He could swear he could hear a shrill, tortured scream coming from the Diadem atop his head, but it seemed muffled, restrained somehow. The information now swimming through his mind quickly pieced together a theory for him: Riddle chained Rowena’s power and bent it to his own will. He used the Diadem to drive less capable wizards insane with the overload of knowledge and he could easily enough use his own power to take care of the rest. It was a deadly trap.

“You enslaved her spirit,” he accused, his eyes narrowing.

“That’s the risk of making a Horcrux, love,” Voldemort purred dangerously, now mere inches away from Harry, looking as calm as ever. “She was the one to invent them, though I’m sure nobody suspected that such a… _Light_ and _respectable_ witch could have committed a murder of an innocent man.”

“You’re lying!”

“Am I now? Think about it. You have all of her knowledge right… here,” Voldemort pressed one long finger to Harry’s temple. His thoughts were stirring like mad, though he couldn’t help but get distracted by the unique scent of the man in front of him, inhaling it slowly and resisting the urge to close his eyes and delight in the delicious smell. Suddenly things seemed to fall into place for him again – it was just so easy to think and connect the facts.

“She created only one Horcrux and since no one knew what it was, she couldn’t be brought back in a ritual and did not have the ability to possess people like you did…” he theorised on the spot, his eyes narrowed, shoulders stiff and his heart beating almost impossibly fast. Circe, he hoped he wasn’t sweating too much… “She’s been trapped in it for _centuries_.”

“Very good,” Voldemort drawled, now trailing a finger along Harry’s jaw line slowly, teasingly. Harry’s body was starved for touch; he shivered under the caress but managed to pull away reluctantly.

“Is this part of the test?” he asked hesitantly and Voldemort shook his head, not uttering a word.

“Alright, I get it.” He nodded more to himself than to the Dark Lord, clasping his hands together in determination.

“I don’t think you do,” Voldemort whispered, now leaning in very closely, his breath brushing Harry’s ear lightly. “Because you’ve already failed the first test,” he withdrew; his expression stony and impeccably unreadable once more.

“What?” Harry choked out in confusion, drawing back from the burning gaze of the Dark Lord at once. Voldemort towered over him, taller than ever, his shoulders stiff and his expression furious. “But you… I asked if this was part of the test!” Harry protested, refusing to buckle under his pressuring gaze.

“I lied,” the man smiled cruelly, taking a step back again. “You let the Diadem manipulate your thoughts. You should take _nothing_ at face value,” he stated in a clipped, icy tone. “That’s why Gryffindors are never any good,” he then added with distaste, as though the word dirtied his lips. He moved closer to Harry, who moved away once more, scared and confused, his skin still tingling with the longing for the return of Voldemort’s fingers.

The room and Voldemort dissolved into black clouds, swirling before his eyes before everything reformed. A bedroom, large and dark – lit with but a few long candles – appeared around him. The room was much smaller now – circular, with only one tall window with a sill wide enough to sit on. Harry looked around and with a sinking heart he realised what this meant. He had failed the test of the mind, now the Horcrux would test his body… then heart.

Without any warning, strong arms wrapped around him. He’s just an apparition created by the Horcrux, he tried to think, but Riddle’s hands were just as real as his own and not at all imaginary.

“So this is what your body desires,” Voldemort said as a matter of fact, spinning him around. “You can’t hide it from me.” He tapped the diadem atop Harry’s head almost playfully, then moved his hand down to Harry’s chin, forcing it up to let their eyes meet. His own gaze flashed crimson, clashing violently with the vivid green of Harry’s.

 _It’s a test, it’s a test_ , Harry told himself over and over again in an attempt to steel himself and to resist, but his lips were trembling involuntarily already, both scared and anticipating what would inevitably come next. The pull between them was almost tangible, setting every nerve in his body aflame. He realised then, that he had known the truth for a long time… probably since the Locket or even the Diary; he’d just refused to accept it. He had fallen for Tom Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets, all those years ago and even though he had buried his feelings, they never burned out or disappeared… but this was all a trick of the Horcrux, a trial. Voldemort would never actually look at him like this, with violent passion in his crimson eyes and such raw lust in his expression. He had a choice, a heartbreaking choice, to give in to his desire and to let Voldemort kiss him senseless or run, try to dispel the illusion and destroy the Horcrux… and never know how the touch of the man he had fallen for would feel on his skin.

“I’m going to do much more than just kiss you, Harry,” the Dark Lord announced smugly, his lips turning up into a smirk, immediately making Harry’s heart skip a beat involuntarily. He barely registered the arms unwrapping from around him, leaving him free to back away, reach for his wand or run… but he was transfixed by Voldemort’s handsome features, his high cheekbones, perfect nose, inviting lips… straight, proud posture, a little exposed skin on his neck… he was frozen in place, breathing in nervously. He didn’t dare to break eye contact with Voldemort’s crimson gaze – they were so close now, noses almost touching...

“Then _are_ you going to kiss me or not?” he finally broke the silence, impatient, eager, anticipating. The corners of Voldemort’s lips merely turned up a little again and he remained quiet. Frustrated, Harry closed the gap between them with half a step and put his hands on the man’s chest to lift himself up slightly to reach. He placed his lips on Voldemort’s lightly, nervous and trying desperately to stay calm. He could literally feel the satisfied, victorious smirk form on the man’s lips and then respond to his curious but hesitant actions much more confidently while his hands moved around Harry to hold him close again. He assaulted Harry’s lips with breathtaking ferocity, demandingly and _fast._ Struggling for breath, he tried to keep up with the pace. The taste of another mouth on his, _Voldemort’s taste_ , was overwhelming. He’d only ever kissed Cho and Ginny before, but this… was different in every aspect possible. Voldemort’s tongue plundered his mouth with swift expertise, the sensation swiping Harry off his feet, quite literally. Voldemort held him tightly though, not pausing his pleasurable assault for even a moment.

Before he realised it, he was being lowered onto a comfortable bed, Voldemort’s body pressing tightly down on him. Large, long-fingered, strong hands roamed over his body and suddenly he felt so, so hot, his body aching to shed every last bit of clothing already. He wanted to be closer, to show Voldemort everything and to see every part of the handsome man’s body as well… he was aroused more than ever before, the need and pleasure blurring his hazy thoughts even further.

Voldemort’s mouth moved to bestow a flourishing of kisses down his neck, _surprisingly gentle_ , enticing an approving moan to rumble in Harry’s throat. He loosened Harry’s tie with a swift movement of his hand and quickly unbuttoned the top of Harry’s shirt, biting along his collarbone greedily.  

Breathing heavily, Harry melted under the man’s touch, easily throwing his head back in pleasure to allow him easier access. His body was eager for more… and that thought sent his mind to a grinding halt. Voldemort ceased his appreciation of Harry’s body and looked up at him, a knowing smirk on his lips, as always. He probably _did_ know exactly what he was thinking…

“You’re hardly a virgin, Harry,” he mused, licking his lower lip a little, his neatly tied back hair now in slight disarray. Harry looked up to the diadem on his head, unable to see it of course and sighed, withdrawing from the man a little bit. “No need to be shy.”

“Well, yeah, but never... with a guy,” he ground out with some difficulty, averting his eyes and desperately trying not to blush. He wasn’t going to blush and faint like some bloody girl! Voldemort chuckled at that, lowering himself on top of Harry again, grinding up against him slightly. Harry squirmed as pleasure briefly flooded his cock at the friction, before it was gone again and he groaned in frustration and embarrassment, because he wanted _more._

“Well then, I shall make your first time... spectacular,” Voldemort announced, now moving back again and proceeding to disrobe Harry. “And then you won’t ever want to let anyone else indulge in your body,” he added more quietly, which fell on deaf ears as Harry was squirming under him, embarrassed at being so exposed. Voldemort was still fully dressed, but Harry would soon fix that, attacking his buttons with ferocity matched only by his desire to get closer. The man’s body was impressive, flawless and masculine. Unlike Harry, who was still a bit scrawny and hadn’t taken any steps to maintain his body since he’d stopped playing Quidditch, Voldemort’s body was lean, but healthy and strong. His cock stood erect and proud in front of Harry – somewhat intimidating, really, but he took it in his hand eagerly, stroking it experimentally.

Voldemort was kneeling in front of him on the bed, approvingly leering down at him with a relaxed, almost lazy expression on his face. He moved one hand down to cup Harry’s and helped him along a bit.

“You can hold on to it properly, you know,” he teased, making him stroke faster and harder, finally letting a small gasp past his stoic lips. Harry stared up at him in wonder, mesmerized. After a few moments, when the head of the Dark Lord’s cock was already dripping wet, he stopped Harry’s ministrations. He pushed him back down on the bed and pried his legs apart, placing himself in-between them comfortably. There was now the slightest flush to his pale cheeks, which aroused Harry even more. He hadn’t expected to get much of a reaction out of Voldemort, younger version or not… he’d expected him to be emotionless, cold and mechanical, but he was nothing like that. Not gentle, but not violent. Maybe a bit rough sometimes, but Harry loved it all the same. It might have been the Diadem playing tricks, but Harry wanted to believe that Voldemort had a side like this too, that he was not too far gone in insanity to indulge in pleasures of the flesh without using force. His thoughts were interrupted quickly when Voldemort leaned over him, looking at his cock and spread arse _very_ closely. He pressed a finger to Harry’s entrance, looking fascinated as it pushed in.

There was less discomfort than Harry had expected, it felt as though the finger was quite slick in fact. Voldemort must have used a spell of some sort or procured lube while he was busy melting in pleasure under the man. One finger quickly became two, moving around some and it all felt really unusual and foreign to Harry, but he somehow craved _more, bigger, harder, deeper_ … He felt the fingers stretch him further in response to his silent pleading and then the feeling was gone to be replaced by the head of Voldemort’s cock instead, pressing up against him tightly.

Harry squirmed in anticipation and nervousness, involuntarily clenching his muscles. Voldemort leaned over him, his hot breath on Harry’s neck.

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you,” he said and then bit down on the exposed skin while pushing his erection in at the same time. “Much,” he added breathlessly a moment later while Harry was frozen in shock, his legs spread apart and a cock plugging him up rather effectively. Voldemort gave him a brief kiss, which he barely registered as the man pushed in further. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Discomfort, pleasure, fear, desire… it was all mixed together and exploding within him as he gasped for breath, finally relaxing a little. Voldemort started to move then, first very slowly and carefully, but then quite quickly picking up the pace.

“Very good,” he praised Harry; his mouth descending on Harry’s again, even more possessively now that he had the younger man firmly in his grasp. He seemed to discard all restraints now that he had claimed Harry as _his_. He marked the delicious flesh with his teeth, immersing himself in the delectable noises Harry was making. The younger wizard was barely coherent now, responding to every thrust with desperate movements of his own. His lips were swollen and red from bites and rough kisses, but parted and begging for more with small, breathless gasps. Voldemort was happy to oblige, plundering the willing mouth with his tongue, not ceasing his movements for even a second, his pace quickening a bit. He usually had so much control, but now his movement were becoming frantic too. Harry was truly very attractive and he had an air of innocence about him, despite all the death he’d witnessed, the battles he’d been in… it called out to the Dark Lord, irresistible like a flame, waiting to be thoroughly consumed by his darkness. With Harry, he was able to enjoy himself more than anyone he’d remembered from his life before being locked in the Horcrux. There was a closeness between them that he couldn’t explain, but could definitely feel, like a red string of fate connecting their souls… And not to mention Harry looked delicious, sprawled out on the bed, his legs spread wide, one hand stroking his own cock…

Harry climaxed suddenly and without a warning, his muscles clenching around Voldemort’s cock as he cried out in surprise. Such a lovely sight, _indeed_. Voldemort gave him only a moment, not letting him fully regain his bearings after the intense release. He pushed in again and again, for once allowing his passion to drive his actions. He pulled Harry up, making him sit up against the headboard of the bed. The young man rocked his hips instinctively, making it all too easy to please him. Harry was gasping and panting, incoherently mumbling something under his breath, limp in Voldemort’s arms. The Dark Lord’s hands were now free to roam all over the smaller wizard’s delectable body, exploring every little rise and valley of his muscles, the texture of his skin… until he heard Harry’s voice hoarsely begging him to touch _down there_ , to make him come again _, yes, yes, yes…_ He grasped the wet, hot cock eagerly, teasing it at first, then mercilessly pumping and stopping suddenly, just to prevent Harry from reaching climax again just yet.

He was quite content to continue, but Harry was tired, aching and desperate. His body was bobbing up and down on his cock eagerly still, but his expression was blissfully vacant.

“ _Voldemort_ … please,” he choked out brokenly between gasps for breath, pushing himself as close as he could. The Dark Lord was motionless for a moment, his expression a concoction of unnamed feelings, before he came undone at the quiet plead. Never before had someone uttered that name, that tainted, dark name with such sincere love and desire. He pumped Harry’s cock to release and upon seeing Harry climax wonderfully, with an expression of pure ecstasy, he thrust in for the last time, desperately, releasing into the tightness around his erection at once.

They convulsed together in a powerful wave of bliss and that was the last thing Harry could remember. When he regained consciousness, he was dressed again and Voldemort was nowhere to be seen. With hesitation, he felt around for the crown still atop his head and at once felt a blush creep up his cheeks. He’d had gay sex with a bloody tiara on. Brilliant.

He would have laughed at himself, but the room dissolved again and suddenly they were in the forbidden forest, Voldemort’s older, snake-like dead body lying at Harry’s feet motionlessly. His eyes were still wide open, but dull and completely devoid of his fighting spirit.

“No!” Harry shrieked, his heart freezing in horror. “No, you can’t be dead!” he collapsed to his knees beside Voldemort, cradling his head in his hands. The translucent, smooth skin under his fingers was cold and dead.

“You killed him, Harry,” said Hermione beside him, her eyes red and puffed up from crying with apparent relief in her expression. She was looking up at him hopefully, but it seemed to drive a stake right into his heart.

“You did it, mate!” added Ron, appearing from behind her, beaming at him. It tore him to pieces, seeing his joy at the death of the man Harry had loved. Still loved.

“It was your destiny, Harry,” Dumbledore’s voice rang in his ears, making the blood in his veins set ablaze with anger. He had never hated anyone more than at that moment. Fated to kill one another, Dumbledore had told him. It was a curse, not a blessing and he wasn’t anyone’s ruddy saviour. He was nothing more than a murderer now.

“How can you be so cold?!” he choked out through his teeth, his hands clenching into fists. “A man just died, can’t you just shut up for a moment?”

“He killed so many people, Harry,” Hermione shook her head. “He killed your parents.”

“Don’t you dare try to justify… _this_. He was a human being who deserved to live, love and be loved like any of us,” he bit back at her, getting up now, gently putting Voldemort’s head back down on the forest floor, closing his eyes.

“Who could love a monster like him?” Ron asked incredulously, looking seriously repulsed at the very idea and clearly thinking that Harry was insane, but he really couldn’t care less.

“Well maybe I did!” Harry’s restraint shattered and tears sprung from his eyes, his unstoppable anger at them causing his magic to go out of control. He would probably hurt them, perhaps even kill them in his blind rage, but then… the silver Diadem fell from his head, shimmering ominously in the darkness. _He remembered._ This wasn’t real, none of it was. He had finally admitted it to himself, his feelings finally clearer in his mind and heart than they had ever been, but he had failed the test. He had let his mind be manipulated, he had succumbed to the temptation and he had given his heart to the man who had killed his parents.

Rowena’s ghostly form appeared before him once more, but she was somehow darker this time – her aura oppressive and heavy – her eyes frightening and black like an endless void.

She reached out for him, her white hand spidery and frightening, lunging forward with a loud, horrifying scream. She was close, so close – her hands were almost wrapping around Harry’s neck, he could feel his power, energy, his _life_ draining out of every pore of his body. Her pale skin flashed a healthy pink colour for a moment, before she was violently pushed aside by someone else.

Voldemort.

“Not this one,” he said firmly as she fell to the ground. He was as perfect and impressive as ever, although he didn’t spare Harry a superior smirk or even a glance his way.

“You promised me, Riddle! He failed the test, he’s mine!” Her once youthful face seemed ancient now, shadowed with grief and pain and anger, so much anger. Voldemort merely shook his head though, not at all fazed by her feral expression.

“He won’t be able to withstand the powers of your Diadem either way. Give it up,” he said calmly, as though stating the obvious. “He already carries a piece of someone’s soul. You cannot possess him so easily.”

Rowena hissed at him, getting to her feet slowly and only then, Harry noticed there were chains around her hands and feet, black, heavy chains that made the skin around them angry red, even as pale as she was. Then she turned to him again, eyes narrowed and resentful. She looked more like a wild banshee than the famous Lady of Ravenclaw, the Founder of Hogwarts.

“You have failed!” she screeched, her face contorted in anger. “You are not worthy of the gift of knowledge! Begone, traitor to your friends! Weak minded fool! You are forbidden to ever come back here under threat of slow and painful death!“

Her voice boomed and echoed in the walls of the Room of Requirement, louder than anything Harry had ever heard before, reverberating though every cell in his body.  He turned and ran, there was nothing else he could do, shocked and frightened and confused as he was. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, hearing the violent clattering of the mountains of objects closing in behind him. The Room of Requirement had come alive and exiled him. Now every last one of the strange, magnificent things hidden in there was against him, set to kill him on sight. He ran straight for the huge oak doors, taking one last look behind him, hoping somewhere in his heart to maybe glimpse Voldemort’s handsome form once more, but there was only Rowena, deadly yet beautiful, holding up her Diadem.

“Send my regards to my older self,” he heard behind him in Voldemort’s smooth, steel like voice which caressed his senses teasingly. “And remember, you owe me your life.”

Harry was about to turn around, to protest and ask why, when an invisible force hit him, pushing him out into the hallway and shutting the door behind him with a deafening slam.

 

Still shocked, he lay panting on the cold, stone floor for a long time, his mind reeling. He knew one thing though: now that he had realised his feelings… everything would change.

“Harry!” Hermione and Ron suddenly appeared in his vision, kneeling over him, both looking frantic and worried.

“Are you alright?” the youngest Weasley male asked worriedly, helping him up. “Did you destroy it?”

Harry breathed in sharply, his mind running in circles. What should he say?

“Yeah,” he heard himself say reassuringly. “It put up a fight but I managed it somehow.”

He turned away from them to hide his own startled and confused expression. He had no idea what made him say that and yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to back out of the lie now. Maybe… just maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. Voldemort was still out there somewhere and you never know until you try, right? He smirked to himself, giddy at the ridiculousness of what he was actually considering. Courting Voldemort should be interesting to say at least.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up with far more plot than I'd intended... but I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Also, as the creator of the Horcrux Project, I'd like to say thank you to everyone who is participating and I can't wait to read everyone's entries! THANK YOU <3!
> 
> Also -2- there are probably mistakes here, but I've read this over three times and my eyes are popping out so I'll leave it for now and fix anything that's left later.


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